Nocte Eterna
by Michael Aulfrey
Part 9/14

When he came to, hands were on him.  He was on his back,
his shirt was off, and something was working on his back.
He panicked for a second, started to struggle, but a hand
gripped his shoulder.
"Be still, agent Mulder."
Slattery.  He'd know that voice anywhere.  He felt the
priest slap something else on his back, and winced.
"What's going on?" he managed.  He was horrified to hear
his voice sound like a wheeze.
"Just a second."  He felt Slattery lay another Something
across his back.  Focusing on the sensation, he thought
to himself that it must be fabric or something like
fabric.  A bandage.
"There," said the priest.  "That should do for now.
Let's see if we can get you on your feet.  All right?"

He felt hands gripping one of his shoulders, and
responded by bunching his muscles together as he tried to
get up.  An ache from his ribs and back made him wince,
but the pain was not bad.  Yet.  Together, they managed
to get him to a sitting position.  He glanced around.  He
was still in the church.  The wind was blowing heavily.
The dirt had caked itself to his body, and he absently
reached up to brush it off.  Slattery came around into
his field of vision and handed Mulder his coat, which had
been casually thrown aside.  The priest sat down and
looked at Mulder for long moments before speaking.
"You certainly manage to get yourself into some
situations, agent Mulder.  In fact, I would say at the
moment you are the sorriest-looking man I've ever seen."
"I'm like a bad penny.  I always turn up," said Mulder
with a weak smile as he pulled the coat a bit closer
around his shoulders.  "So ... where do we begin?"

Slattery sighed deeply.  "I thought that might be your
first question.  I'm afraid I can't tell you any more
than I told agent Scully."
"If you're telling me that ... thing ... was the reason
the church was closed--"
"It's a reason.  Not the reason."  Slattery's eyes
involuntarily flickered to the left.  Mulder glanced in
that direction.  A naked body lay splayed out to the four
points of the compass.  At the centre of its chest, a
wooden stake protruded out.  Mulder's gaze snapped back
to Slattery, suddenly noticing for the first time the cut
on his cheek and the blood on one of his hands.
"You ... killed ... it?"
"Not kill, agent Mulder.  After all your interest in the
current situation, you should know better than that."
"A vampire?" His back ached like fury.
"It's not a common occurrence," said Slattery.  "But
common enough so that we know about it."
"But this is a church.  Sacred ground.  How did it--"
"It's not sacred ground, agent Mulder.  This church has
not been consecrated for many years now."
"That's why it was closed, wasn't it? Those acts of
vandalism were acts of a vampire, weren't they?"
"That's close enough to the real reason."
"But that's not all, is it? You know something about the
killings.  Those three kids we found here -- including
that one there -- they were the work of vampires.  But
the others -- the decapitations, the stakings -- no
vampire did those.  It's the Dawnbringer, isn't it?  And
these three killings were retribution for the first
three."
Slattery looked up at the dark sky, then stared at Mulder
again.  "I told agent Scully that this was a matter that
she should not get involved in.  I'll tell you this.  The
Catholic Church does not want to involve itself in these
killings either.  This is a matter outside the
jurisdiction of both Church and State.  I was sent here
to ensure that natural events run their course."
"Is that why you came here?"
"I came here to keep watch for the church."
"No.  That doesn't fit.  You're not here just to keep
watch.  You finished off that vampire yourself because
you were following me.  You know something you're not
telling me."
"Believe it as you wish, agent Mulder.  We have no desire
to become involved in a war of condemned souls.  That is
the task of others."  Slattery stood.  "I've bound up the
cuts that creature gave you as best I can, but I think
you should call your partner and have her pick you up."

He walked over to the body of the creature and pulled a
small box of matches from his pocket.  Then he lit one
against the howling wind and threw it onto the body.  It
took light instantly, like dry tinder.  Mulder faintly
smelled gas.  Slattery watched it for a moment, then
calmly walked out of the remains of the church and into
the rising darkness.  He left Mulder to stare at the
flames consuming the body.

               *              *              *

Kane met Madeleine after lunch, and they spent a few
hours at some movie where the protagonists made mad,
animalistic love all over the screen for half the time,
and made up with each other for the other half.  In the
back row, though, they hadn't been keeping score.  And he
was sure he'd made the right choice several times over by
now.  He insisted on leaving the long overcoat on, and
the sword sometimes felt like it was going to cut a
kidney out, but he wouldn't have traded it for all the
money in the world.

His hand crept into hers as they left, and she squeezed
it tightly.  He looked at her again, fascinated once more
by how easily it had been.

But that only brought back more knowledge of what it was
he had to tell her.  He remembered when he'd told
Eleanor.  She hadn't reacted much at all, only kissed him
and then made love to him several times over.  Life to
counter the effect of lingering death.  He pushed the
knowledge down, content for the moment to simply stare
into her beautiful eyes and convince himself that he
could act as an ordinary man for a while longer.
"What is it?" she asked him suddenly.  He realised that
some of his memories must have come through to his face.
"Nothing.  I was just thinking how beautiful you are."
She cocked an eyebrow at him, mischief dancing around the
corners of her mouth.  "If that's a come-on line, it's a
pretty bad one.  But I'll take it up."
He rolled his eyes.  "Miss Chambers, you are insatiable."
"Well, I have to enjoy the time I have before my son
arrives."
"You have a son?" Other men would have been scared by
that; he found it only more attractive about her.
"Well, no," she said, spooning up alongside him
provocatively and letting her voice drop to a husky
whisper, "But maybe you can help me out with that."
Her laugh at his amazed and then embarassed expression
was like music.
"Come on," she said, "let's get home.  Before I can't
control myself any longer."  She pulled him down an
alley.  "Down here is a short-cut."

They stepped down the alley, avoiding the dripping fire
escapes and pools of water that were a product of the
rainstorm that had come on earlier that evening.  He'd
never felt better about life.  She was beautiful.  He
wanted to marry her.  He stopped her halfway down.
"Madeleine--"

And then he felt Them coming.  He cut short.  Hie eyes
began tracking over the fire escapes, the windows, the
ends of the alley like a robot.  He felt the smile drop
from his face.  A dagger of ice caressed his stomach.
"Kane, what's wrong?"
His eyes squinted in the darkness, every shadow suddenly
that much deeper.
"Madeleine, go.  Run!"  He was turning slowly, looking
for the best cover, the widest parts of the alley.
Nothing.  Yet.  The sensation of dread was growing,
though, like a black wave rushing a dark beach.

More than one of them for certain.  Beside him,
Madeleine's voice was jumping octaves, demanding to know
what was wrong.

He threw aside the trenchcoat's length and drew the dai-
katana, the metal glinting silver in the light.  He heard
her sudden cry of fear and snatched a glance to her.
"I'll explain later.  Go now!"

He was about to admonish her a third time when they
dropped down from the shadows.  Like always.  His eyes
flicked around even as he stepped between Madeleine and
them.  His mind counted.  Six.  Seven.  Eight.  His
concern edged up several notches.
"Kane, who are these people?"  Madeleine's voice, from
behind him.
"I'm telling you again -- go! I can defend myself, but I
can't protect you as well.  Run!"
He let the last word snap out with the force of a low
kiai, and was gratified to finally hear her footsteps
quickly receding from him, back up the alley, up the way
they'd come.  He backed up a step or two, as if he would
go the same way, then held his ground and took the ready
stance, sword low.

Sai'ten grinned as he took a step forward.  Kane's
anxiety inched further, but so did his rage.
"You told her your real name, Dawnbringer? I'm surprised.
You didn't even do that with her predecessor."
"I'm only Kane Adamson to her, Sai'ten.  Leave her out of
this.  It doesn't concern her."
"True.  But I haven't had much fun for a long time.
Maybe I'll send the others to pay her a visit."

Calm.  Be calm.  The eye of the void.  He told Eleanor's
shade to run as well, to a place where they couldn't find
her.  "I'm surprised you don't have the courage to do so
yourself.  Getting old, are we? Can't even hunt down a
single woman without all your brothers to hold you up?"
Sai'ten's eyes glimmered so brightly now one could be
mistaken for thinking there were diamonds within.  "Very
good, Dawnbringer.  I'm glad to see I don't have to kill
a moping fool.  You'll be that much more satisfying."
"You'll have to catch me first," said Kane.  Time.  It
was on his side.  The longer they stayed out, the closer
dawn was.  True, sunrise was a good eight to twelve hours
away, but the rule still applied.  It gave him more time
to seek an advantage in the arena of combat.  Keep them
talking.
"Oh, we will," Sai'ten was saying.  "I think this time
you are outmatched.  There are eight of us, after all.
You hunt the singular."
"I've been getting practice in.  Thank you for sending
those others out, incidentally.  Those last two, in
particular, had your smell on them.  And you've picked a
poor battleground.  You can't come at me all at once.
Your friends will be positively tripping over each
other's feet.  On the other hand, this," he hefted the
blade slightly, "has no problem dealing with you one at a
time.  I'm surprised you even managed to find me."  This
was a more relevant question; he needed to know how the
Sai'ten had managed to track him down so quickly.
"It took us some time.  We've spent the hours since
sundown looking for you.  But we knew you'd be prowling
around somewhere waiting for some of us to feed.  And
here you are."
"Yes, that cloud of obscurity is a problem, isn't it? For
all your vaunted powers, you can't even find a single man
who's been killing your kind for the past--"
"Enough talk!" snarled Sai'ten.  "You will die, here,
tonight."
"I've heard that many times before.  It doesn't work on
me anymore."
"Fine.  Shall we be about our business, then?"
Kane raised his blade in a mocking half-salute.
"Whenever you want, Sai'ten."
"Kill him," said the leader, and they came at him like
black clouds across an icy sea ... and his blade flashed
like lightning in the dark storm.

END OF PART 9/14


Nocte Eterna
by Michael Aulfrey
Part 10/14

Scully sucked in a breath of air through her gritted
teeth.  The sound echoed through the interrogation
chamber that she'd appropriated down at the precinct as
the closest stop.  How Mulder had managed to even walk
after the beating he'd taken was beyond her.  His back
was a collection of large red circles which would
eventually turn angry purples and blues.  To say nothing
of the four long slash marks that had been pasted over by
Slattery.  He winced slightly when she asked him to take
off the coat and sit on the table where she could get a
look at him.

"So do you think I should take that offer of a topless
spread in Playboy?" he said.  She could just about see
the smile he'd have on his face.
"I think we could get you a guest role on Wild Kingdom,"
she replied, frowning.  He turned slightly, glancing at
her quizzically.
"As a tropical bird," she said.  "You're going to have
all the colours of the rainbow on your back in two days'
time.  How did you get this way, Mulder?"
"First the guy mistook my back for a field to be
ploughed."  He winced as she gingerly peeled the first of
the long dressings off his wounds.  "Then he showed me
the door.  Guess the door and I didn't hit it off."
Scully nodded, peering at the wound.  "It's not bad.  I
don't think you'll need stitches."
"No railway tracks up my back?"
"Bandages and rest should take care of it.  I don't think
it'll even scar.  You've been lucky, Mulder.  I want you

to get your back checked at the hospital, but aside from
that I think you'll come through this okay."
"How about my ribs?"
"Bruised as well, but unbroken.  Frankly, I'm amazed you
weren't hurt worse."
"They called me Timex at school.  Take a lickin' and keep
on tickin'."
She smiled at that.  He winced a little as she took the
other strips off and replaced them with proper bandages.
"Okay, you can put your coat back on."
He did so, rolling his shoulders one after the other
experimentally.
"You'll start it bleeding again," she warned.  He
stopped.
"Feels like you did a good job, though.  Thanks."
She nodded in acknowledgement.  "So what else did
Slattery say?"
"Nothing else.  He left, I called you and here we are."

She nodded.  She'd heard the whole story on the way in:
his research at the library and the attack by the
vampire.  She had seen the boy's body for herself as she
helped Mulder to the car, and called ahead for another
police team to get out to Saint Martin's and pick the
corpse up.  She didn't have much choice but start to come
round to his point of view, even if it was a crazy one.

"So what do you think, Mulder?" she said, trying to
convey as much openness in her voice as possible.
"I think this person -- the Dawnbringer -- is here in
Chicago right now.  It's the same guy who killed all
those other unidentifed victims in those other cases I
told you about.  The Catholic Church doesn't want it
investigated into it because they know they should be
dealing with it.  It's right in their traditional
ballcourt."
"You said Slattery talked about a war of condemned souls.
I don't think it's Church doctrine that any soul is
condemned."
"If there's any example of a condemned soul, it's
probably a vampire.  The legends don't ever say how to
redeem it, just how to kill it."
"But a war of condemned souls ... that doesn't sound like
something a Dawnbringer would be."
"No, you're right.  I can't figure that part out.  But if
we can just get a description of him, Scully, we'll have
him.  And then we can decide whether or not we want to
charge him."
"What?"
"One of those things nearly killed me tonight, Scully.
Those who die by a vampire's bite become vampires
themselves.  If this Dawnbringer is God's idea of a pest
control operator, I'm just wondering whether we should
interfere."
"That's completely irrational, Mulder.  There have been
too many deaths for us to ignore the consequences.  When
we find this man, we'll have to bring him to justice."

Mulder nodded.  "Okay.  Did you find anything new from
customs on the importation of those bloodbirch stakes?"
"Actually, yes.  Los Angeles Customs took a shipment of
bloodbirch that was assigned to a corporation called
Treadstone 31.  I checked with the Business Registry, and
the corporation is a shelf company.  It hasn't been
accessed for some time.  But the last director, someone
called Kane Adamson, wound up his interest about three
years ago and disappeared.  I called Agent Pendrell at
the FBI to run rush checks through all the relevant
databases."
"What did you have to do for him?" asked Mulder, a wry
smile creeping onto his features.
She shrugged.  "He was pretty good about it.  I only have
to sleep with him for one night when I get back to
Washington."
His shocked expression only lasted a moment, but she saw
it and burst out laughing.  He smiled widely.
"That's good thinking," he said solemnly, which only sent
her into further hysterics.

It was that moment that Detective Lloyd Marshall (of the
red and white Thunderbird) chose to walk in.

"Well, I'm glad to see you two have so much time on your
hands that you can amuse yourselves," he said.
"Unfortunately, the rest of us have to do real detective
work."
They composed themselves quickly, though the thought of
Marshall playing a role in `Grease' threatened to send
Scully over the edge again.
"What's the problem, detective?"
The detective paused to shift his chewing gum to the
other side of his mouth.  "We just got a potential
witness to the last two decapitations.  A maitre'd at a
restaurant says he saw two people leaving his place a few
minutes before the murders happened.  A man and a woman."

Mulder's attention was well and truly snared now.  "Do we
have a description on the man?"
"No.  But the maitre'd remembers making the reservations
in the name of the woman.  A Madeleine Chambers.
Apparently, they stayed on a long time after closing
hour.  We got her driver's licence and her address."
"Where's he now?"
"He's making a statement now."
"Good.  Get a police artist down, see if he can give us a
description of the man.  Agent Scully and myself will go
stake out her apartment."
"Yeah.  Sure."  Marshall took another bite on his chewing
gum and left the room.

Scully was looking at Mulder.
"Are you sure you're up to this, Mulder? You just took a
bad beating--"
"I'm okay, Scully.  Let's go find this woman."

               *              *              *

The doorbell drilled in his ears.  He ignored it.
Unfortunately, in doing so, he forgot to turn off the
intercom which was installed in the bottom door.  He left
it on as a matter of course.  He regretted it now.
"Damn it, Kane! Let me in! I know you're in there, you
left your car outside!"

Madeleine.  Damn.

Something made him stand up.  Whatever it was obviously
had nothing to do with his wound.  He pulled himself, one
item at a time, to his feet and then the door.
Bookshelf, cabinet, lounge chair, sofa, until he was
finally leaning against the doorjamb.
"Kane?" her voice demanded, the concern and tiredness
gleaming through her voice.

He turned the doorknob.  In a second, she had pushed the
door open and was staring at him.  Still dressed in what
he'd seen her in a few hours ago.
"You'd better ... come in," he whispered, grimacing
midway through.  He began to slide down the doorjamb.
She grabbed his shoulder, sweating as they struggled to
get him over to the sofa.  Somehow, they made it.
"Not ... on my back," he whispered, and she let him stay
sitting up.  It was then that she noticed the blood on
her hand.  And the gaping hole in his shirt.  And the cut
running for a number of inches down his back.  She almost
lost her dinner then, but forced it down as his voice
rasped in the air again.
"I'm ... hurt, Madeleine.  You have to--" He closed his
eyes for a moment, blinking away a drop of sweat -- "Have
to help me."
"A hospital -- we can get you to --"
"No ... no hospitals.  Explain later.  Can't risk it.
Too many innocent lives endangered.  You'll have to
stitch up the wound yourself."  He gestured with his free
arm.  "Needle ... and thread's on the table."

She did feel her stomach turn over then; ran for the
bathroom and threw up heavily in the toilet bowl.  She
took a deep breath, trying to get the awful smell of bile
away from her.  There was an awful burning in the back of
her throat.  It was a few long moments before she
recovered herself enough to get to her feet and stumble
back into the living room.  He had managed to turn
himself over so he lay on his stomach on the sofa.  She
glanced around.  The needle and thread were there, all
right, the needle gleaming like a sliver splinter in the
light.
"You're serious?" she asked, her voice barely above a
whisper.  He seemed to summon strength before he
answered.
"I've done it ... before."

She picked up the needle and thread and walked gingerly
over to the sofa.
"I think I'm going to be sick again," she said as she sat
down behind him.
"If you are ... get it over with.  Just think of it ...
as cordwood.  It'll ... help."
She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened.
"All right, Kane.  I'll do it.  But on one condition.
While I'm doing it, you tell me who those men were and
what the hell is going on!"

He closed his eyes.  She thought he was sleeping.  But
then he opened them again.
"Agreed.  Tie a small knot in the end of the thread and
thread the needle.  Then make the first puncture at the
bottom of the cut.  Like you're sewing normally."

She exposed the wound, wiping a little of the blood away
and set to work, trying to block out his flinching and
coughing as he spoke to her.  It partially succeeded.
For his wounded state, his obvious exhaustion and
coughing, he still had a resonating voice.  She bit her
lip to keep from crying.
"Those men in the alleyway were not men.  They were
creatures that have plagued man since the dawn of time.
Have you ever heard of vampires? I can't see your face,
but I know that you don't believe me.  It's true.
Straight out of a Dracula story."
"Why did they want you?" she asked, hearing her voice
heading for the borders of hysteria.  She almost dropped
the needle at that point.  One part of her mind slapped
her.  Get it together, woman.  He needs you.
"Because I hunt them."
"You hunt them?"
He nodded painfully.  "Other people have families,
children.  I have only them.  And every time I meet one
of them, I kill them."
"Why?"
" It's my lot in life.  Beyond that ... I can't tell you.
But they know me from a long time ago.  Peacemaker, they
call me.  Sometimes the Dawnbringer.  I'm their fourth
bane, along with wooden stakes, crosses and sunlight.
Because I bring death to them."

And he told her about Eleanor, and what they'd done to
her.  All up, it took three hours.  He told her
everything, letting the secret finally come out like pus
from a lanced sore.  Everything.  Including the day it
happened.  December 25, 1559.  She stopped at that,
making him flinch, but he compartmentalised the pain and
stored it away, cutting it off.
"But that means you're ..."
"Over three hundred years old.  Yes.  I cannot die."
She stared at his back, unable to believe her eyes.
"But the wound ... your blood ..."
"They will heal eventually, at a much faster rate than
ordinary men.  But the wound has to be closed, and I need
rest."
Her fingers were working separately from her; the
amazement in her mind hadn't translated that far down.
She pulled the final stitch tightly and sat back.
"It's done," she managed to say.
He breathed deeply, letting the tension flow from his
body.
"You've done superb work," he said.  "I can feel it."
"Do you have any bandages?"
"I won't need them.  Give it two hours under open air,
and there will only be a scar.  You can take the stitches
out then."

She got up from the sofa and walked to the sink, washed
her hands blankly.  Then she turned back to him.
"You fought these men ... this vampire called Sai'ten,
didn't you?"
He nodded as he pulled himself to a sitting position,
grimacing with the pain all the way.
"What about Sai'ten?"
He breathed deeply, letting the last firings of pain pass
away.  "No.  After the seventh one gave me this, he fled.
I finished him off, but I was too weak to pursue
Sai'ten."
"He'll be back, won't he?"
"It's ... possible that he knows where I am now.  My
sword--"
"Your sword?"
"My sword ... was able to obscure my presence from his
instincts and magic.  I don't know if it can still do
that."
"Then we've got to get moving.  If he comes back, you're
in no condition to fight him.  I'm going to my apartment
and getting my things."
"Madeleine--"
"What are you going to say, Kane? That I shouldn't put
myself in danger? Was that what you were going to do when
they came back for you? Run out on me and hope they
didn't come after me instead? No way.  I think I love
you.  And if you're in this, so am I.  And the safest
place with that ... that ... thing running around out
there is right next to you."
He sank back into the sofa, shaking his head slowly.
"It'll be too dangerous ..."
"Bullshit.  I'll see you back here in half an hour."

She heard him protest as she slammed the door to his
apartment, and kept going.

END OF PART 10/14


Nocte Eterna
by Michael Aulfrey
Part 11/14

Mulder shifted uncomfortably in the seat of the car and
stared out at the heavy rain barrelling into the street.
They were directly opposite Madeleine Chambers' address,
a large apartment building.

"Mulder, if you don't stop fidgeting, I'll shoot you."
"It's these bandages you gave me, Scully.  Somebody must
have put itching powder in them at the factory."
She shook her head in exasperation.  "We only just got
here."
"We've been here three hours already."
"And we could be here a lot longer, so just relax."

Silence.  Then the crinkling of a small plastic bag,
followed by a gunshot-like snap and a sound like a
grizzly bear chewing on rocks.  Silence.  More crinkling.
Snap.  Chewing.

"Do you have to do that?"
"Dhoo whatfh, Schully?"
"Make it sound like you're executing them."
"Sforry."  More crinkling, admittedly at a lower volume.
"Want one?"

She shook her head.

Silence.

He tapped his fingers on the steering-wheel.  The Waltz
of the Flowers (percussion allegro).  She closed her
eyes.
"Mulder, just turn on the radio."
The rendition ceased.  He hurriedly pushed the button.

James Brown's "Sex Machine" bellowed through the
speakers.  He hurriedly twisted the volume knob down so
the black guy's raspy yelling became a low buzz.  A few
seconds at that volume was slightly less annoying than
mosquitoes.  She looked at him to find he was staring at
her.  She nodded soundlessly.  He changed the station.

James Brown's buzz became Kurt Cobain's groaning buzz.
He pressed the next button along.

The Commitments, singing "Dark End of the Street."  She
immediately started humming along.  He looked at her
strangely.
"What?" she said.
"I thought you were a blues fan."
"A blues fan?"
"You listen to B.B. King, right?"
"So?"
"B.B. King is blues.  The Commitments are soul."
"What's your point?"
"You can't listen to both."
"Mulder, that's the craziest -- "
"They're fundamentally opposed.  Anybody who listens to
blues can't like soul."
"I -- look, I just want to listen to the song, okay?"
"It's not right."
"Since when did you become the music critic? Next you'll
be telling me I can listen to Jimi Hendrix but I can't
hear him."
"Now we're getting somewhere."
"Mulder --"

And with that, the song finished and the graveyard-shift
DJ started talking about the sponsors of the station.
Scully stared at it, then at Mulder, with the deadliest
look in her arsenal, the one that made her sister cry
once.

Apparently, he got the point.  He switched the stations.
B.B. King and U2 singing "When Love Comes To Town."

They both relaxed.

A car rolled up to the street and slowed to a halt
outside the apartment.

They gritted their teeth.  Mulder killed the radio as a
black-haired woman got out of the car and started for the
apartment block.
"What do you think?" murmured Scully.
"Who else would be out at this time of night?" said
Mulder.
"Aside from vampires and rejected FBI agents, you mean?"

He gave her a hurt expression as they got out of the car
and jogged across the road.  The woman was at her front
doorstep, and she turned as they walked up.  Fear
awakened in her eyes.  Mulder pulled his identification
out of his pocket.
"Madeleine Chambers?"
"Yes?"
"I'm special agent Fox Mulder, this is special agent Dana
Scully.  We're with the FBI.  Could we talk for a few
minutes?"

She stared at the identification for a few seconds, then
shook her head.  She started to turn back to unlocking
the door.  Mulder moved around beside her.
"Where is he?" he asked.
She stared at him with frightened eyes.
"Look, we're not going to hurt you.  We just need to know
where your friend is."
"I know you won't hurt me.  You do, and I'll sue the
Bureau for everything it's worth.  And if you need to
know where some friend of mine is, look in the phone
book.  Let your fingers do the walking."
"I prefer to let my fingers do the talking."  He whipped
a set of handcuffs from his pocket and snapped them onto
his wrist and hers.  "Madeleine Chambers, I'm placing you
under arrest, pending charges for the murder of two men
at 1121 Valleywood Avenue, last night.  You have the
right to remain silent--"
She was staring at the handcuffs.  "You can't do this!"
"I just did."
"You don't understand.  He's hurt.  He needs my help."
"Then let us help him," said Mulder with sudden
intensity.  "Look, Miss Chambers, we know he's been
killing people.  We're getting close to finding him.  His
only way out now is to come in while he can still give an
explanation.  If he doesn't, there'll be trouble.  Very
bad trouble.  A lot of innocent people could die.  If you
help us, we avoid all that.  You don't, and you'll go up
as an accessory to murder one.  That carries--"
"I know what it carries.  I'm a judge's associate."
"Then you should know better than to let yourself go down
for this."

Madeleine glanced once at Scully.
"You won't hurt him?" asked Madeleine.
"Not unless he makes the first move," said Scully.

She seemed to be thinking hard.  Finally, she nodded.
"All right."

               *              *              *

A bad night.

The storm blew over Saint Martin's Church and seemed to
hold there for some time.  Thunder pealed from the
rooftops.  Lightning raked the sky with electricity,
smashing trees near the church with reckless intensity.

Sai'ten didn't notice the rain.  He had his eyes closed.
He saw not the storm or the lightning, but the stars
beyond them.  And he knew the time was almost here.  He
had a name, a face, a smell to put to the Dawnbringer,
now.  With the coming of the conjunction, the last
vestiges of the Silver Rivers blade's protection would
fade.  There would be no place for the Dawnbringer to
hide.

And better than that, the Dawnbringer was wounded.  It
would take him time to recover.  Time enough for Sai'ten
and what remained of his cohorts to tear his heart out.

There was anger at the memory.  Kane Adamson had been
tougher than the lore suggested.  None of the Wordsmiths
had ever dreamed of the Dawnbringer's fighting skill.  He
had held the stories in contempt.  No longer.  He had
thought that the decimation of the Circle of Ten had been
done by subterfuge, by use of shadows darker than their
own.  He was wrong.  The Dawnbringer was as formidable an
opponent as God himself.

He checked himself from being overcome by fear.  The
Dawnbringer had claimed many of his brethren, that much
was true, but he was not immortal.  And if one attempt
failed, the Silver Rivers blade would not hide him any
longer.  There would be others.  They would grind him
down eventually.

He smiled at that and turned his attention back to the
skies.  He saw them through the clouds now, pulsing with
dark energy, vacuums upon vacuums.  All was in readiness.
He waited ... and waited ...

Hit!

The earth opened up.  Stinging light enshrouded his body.
He screamed aloud, knowledge being simultaneously given
to him and taken away from him.  A column of power
smashed from distant star to aligned planets to earth, to
this place, the one spot on earth where the power could
be drawn on.

Sai'ten was in its path.

He roared with the pain and exultation as the power
suffused him.  Felt himself lifting off the ground,
levitating, borne up by the dark crystals of knowledge
exploding inside his mind.  The pain increased, and
increased, until it felt like he was being bathed in full
sunlight.

Then, abruptly, it stopped. He fell, landing on the
ground with a wet thud.  But a second later he was on his
feet again.  He closed his eyes, directing his inner eye
to fly out across the city, over the teeming hordes of
humanity.  A glimmering light in the distance attracted
his attention.  He sent the eye towards it, the knowledge
filling him that this was what he sought.

A police station, somewhere downtown.  The eye passed
women, menstrual cramps exploding into pain.  Dogs
snarled in its path.  Water seemed to turn stale in its
wake.  It kept moving, until it settled on one cell.  The
metal door was no bar.  It shifted through it.  And
inside, the Dawnbringer.  Alone.  Weaponless.
Handcuffed.  Kane looked up, and though he could not see
the eye, knew it was there.  Looked up and set his mouth
in a grim line.  Not fear.  Not anger.  Resolve.

Sai'ten snarled and let the eye dissipate, opening his
physical eyes again.  He'd found the Dawnbringer.
Mortals were guarding him, but they were of no moment.

He stared out at the terrain, and sent out the Call, the
mightiest one ever known, its power echoing out across
Illinois and into neighbouring states.  And he heard the
surprised voices of recognition and acknowledgment of his
Call.  And he felt their movement as they started towards
Chicago.

He sat, and began to wait once more.

               *              *              *

Mulder looked at him through the cell door.  He stopped
staring up at the corner of the room at back at the floor
in front of him.  Mulder distinctly saw him sigh.
"He doesn't look like a mass murderer," said Scully.
"None of them do, really," said Mulder softly.  "They're
always ordinary people."  He looked at Scully.  "Although
if what she says about him is true ..."
"I'm not buying that, Mulder.  I accept that you were
attacked by something that might have been a vampire.
And I'll admit that his shoulder injury has shown an
amazing recovery rate for the time he's been here.  But
that doesn't make Kane Adamson immortal."
"Well, he didn't contest the charges.  Marshall threw in
the 1992 murders as well, and he hasn't contested them,
either.  He doesn't want a lawyer.  He didn't try to run
when we broke his door down."
"So?"
Mulder shrugged.  "We've heard from her what he thinks he
is.  Maybe we should give him a chance to tell his side
of it."

Scully raised her eyebrows.  "If that's what you want.
I'm going to call the Customs Office, see if they want to
press charges for importing the bloodbirch."

As if in punctuation, her phone rang.  She pulled it out
of her pocket and turned away from him. Mulder looked
back in at Adamson again, watching that calm face, but
listening to the call.
"Scully.  Yes."  A pause.  "Yes, I have.  What did you
find?"  A longer pause, lasting several seconds.  "I see.
Yes, thank you.  Thank you very much."  Then the soft
beep as she terminated the call.
"What was it?" he asked without looking at her.
"It was the field office.  The results of the physical
came in."
He swung away from the window, looking at her.  Her eyes
were bright.
"The cancer?" he asked softly.
"Yeah."  She took a deep breath.  Then a smile burst out
from inside her.  "The growth is benign.  They can remove
it at any time."

His heart leapt.  He grabbed her in a bear hug and lifted
her off her feet, swinging her around in the air,
laughing his fool head off.  He knew what they'd probably
be thinking all around him, but he didn't care.  They'd
given her life back.  Somewhere in his mind, his father
smiled in that dark room and walked out with a wave of
farewell and friendship.

He set her down, and they looked at each other.
Something passed between them.  Something that would have
to wait for a more appropriate time.
"I'll go and call Customs," she said.  She couldn't
contain her smile.
"I'll see you after," he said.  She turned and started up
the hall, a spring in her step that made her look ten
years younger.  He watched her for a few seconds longer,
then turned to the cell.  He pushed the handle and walked
into the small, metal room.

Adamson looked up as he entered.
"You've been watching me," he said.
"I'm curious about some things."
"Such as whether I'd be bouncing off the walls by this
time?"
Mulder pulled up the other chair in the room.  "You tell
me."
"Your demeanour doesn't mark you as regular police," said
Adamson.  "Not to mention your conservative dress, which
an undercover police officer wouldn't wear.  And you're
not a detective, either, because a detective would be out
gathering forensic evidence.  No.  You are an FBI agent.
The detective you sent in before charged me with the
deaths in 1992.  Therefore your interest lies not only in
the most recent spate, but also in a number of others
dating back for many years."
"You see a lot.  Now maybe you want to tell me what
you've seen."
Adamson leaned back against the wall.  Mulder remembered
the fast healing rate of the wound.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you.  And in any case
it would not matter."
"Mister Adamson, I can't remember whether the death
penalty still applies in the state of Illinois for murder-
-"
"Death! Well, that settles it.  I'm definitely not
telling you anything."
"All right, then.  Maybe if I tell you some things.  I
don't know your real name, but in the mountains of
Transylvania you're known as the Dawnbringer.  Or
Peacemaker.  You're as popular as garlic among vampires.
You hunt them.  And you probably haven't changed your
physical appearance for a good three hundred years or
more, though your name might well have changed."  He
paused.  "And you've got some involvement in why Saint
Martin's Church was closed in 1920.  So maybe you want to
fill in the gaps."

END OF PART 11/14


Nocte Eterna
by Michael Aulfrey
Part 12/14

Adamson's eyes had slitted.  It was the first display of
emotion he'd given.  He breathed out.
"It sounds as though you've done your research."
"It's my job, Mr. Adamson."
Adamson nodded.  "Where's Madeleine?"
"She's fine.  We're not holding her against her will.
She wants to see you."
Adamson closed his eyes and it seemed a flicker of relief
crossed his face.  He opened his eyes again.
"You want to hear my full story.  Something that I have
not told anyone for centuries."
"Yes."
"Do you believe in God, FBI man?"
"My name is Mulder.  I want to believe."
"You should, agent Mulder.  Because God is the reason I
am what I am."
"How?"
Adamson's eyes drifted into memory.  "If you read your
Bible, agent Mulder, you will find a passage in the New
Testament -- the Book of John, I believe -- where Jesus
Christ is put on trial before the Jewish official Annas."
"What are you saying?"
"I remember the smell of incense in that chamber.  It was
faint myrrh, the smell of repentance, the smell of the
tomb.  I remember Annas' robes.  They were silk, rare as
diamonds in those days.  He was decked in them.  I was
proud to serve someone like him.  He was -- what's the
term -- upwardly mobile.  In a few years, he might well
have become the high priest, and all his court would have
prospered in the wake of that appointment."

He was staring off into space.  Mulder's spine chilled as
he realised Adamson wasn't trying to make it up.  He was
staring into that time.  And all the metal walls could
not keep out the vividness of the memory.
"It was a hot morning," said Adamson, faintly.  "The
women were out looking for water early as I went to the
palace that day.  The gossip was thick in the
passageways.  Apparently, the Temple guards had gone out
last night and arrested a young rabbi who had been
causing trouble.  There'd been a struggle.  One of the
servants' ears was cut off.  They had been really working
this rabbi over during the night.  He was due to stand
trial before the Governor that day.  They brought him in,
this rabble-rouser.  This revolutionary.  I was expecting
someone like that bastard Barabbas who was waiting to
die.  Instead, they brought in a weedy-looking carpenter
from Nazareth who couldn't start a cattle stampede, let
alone a revolution.  Except his eyes."

Adamson stopped talking.  Mulder waited a moment.
"What about his eyes?"
Adamson acted as though he hadn't heard.  "A carpenter
would have soiled his pants the moment Annas glanced at
him.  But this man didn't.  And it was because of those
eyes.  They weren't the eyes of a carpenter.  He looked
at me once when they brought him in.  For a second, we
locked gazes.  And it felt like the sky was staring at me
from behind those eyes.  The stars would have been right
at home there.  It scared me.  And while they were
questioning him, I could see it was scaring Annas too.
His eyes and the way he talked.  Annas asked him
something about his teachings, and this carpenter asked
Annas why he didn't find out from those the carpenter had
taught! Annas, one of the highest officials in Judaea,
being told to seek his answers from elsewhere!"
Adamson's face pinched up.  "I can't describe how he said
it.  He just said it in a way that for a second there,
everyone knew that that little Nazarene was in charge and
Annas was the one being called to account for himself.
The room went silent.  They were scared.  All of us were
scared.  Because we didn't know what to make of this
little carpenter.  They were saying he'd done miracles,
made the dead walk, made the blind see again.  A ball of
rage dropped over my vision.  I stepped forward, yelled
something about not talking to the high priest that way,
and slapped him as hard as I could."
Adamson's face twisted in regret.  It was frightening to
see.  He continued on.  "And that Nazarene looked me
right in the face and asked me what it was he had said
that had given offence.  And to this day, I haven't been
able to find an answer to that question.  They took this
little Nazarene carpenter out to Golgotha and crucified
him as a common criminal.  And when he died, the earth
shook and the veil of the temple was torn from top to
bottom.  Three days later, they were saying he'd risen
from the dead."

Mulder stared at him, stunned into silence.  Adamson's
eyes pierced him, searching.
"I have been alive for nearly two thousand years, agent
Mulder.  I struck Jesus Christ out of rage.  For that, my
punishment was simple.  To live and never die until
Christ comes back to release me."

Mulder sat back.  His mind was whirling.  Two thousand
years.  Not eternity, but close enough to it.  For one
blow across the cheek.
"They drove me out of Israel when my friends were dying
of old age and I still looked as you see me now.  I
wandered.  The Nazarene's disciples were growing and
spreading.  I watched the church grow from one man to a
multitude upon a multitude.  I watched people grow old
and die around me, while I remained young."
Finally Mulder summoned up the courage to speak.  "When
did you ... start hunting?"

Adamson's eyes shifted, moving out of the past and into
the present.
"A hundred years after the incident ... long enough for
me to learn to deal with my condition ... I had a dream
one night.  A dream of dark creatures striding across the
ages, stealing one life after another, confounding the
little carpenter's work.  I was still very much a soldier
then.  And then I saw the Nazarene in a dream.  He told
me to defend his work."
"Why did you listen?"
Adamson's gaze snapped onto Mulder again.  "I'd been
alive for nearly a hundred years.  And the memory of the
carpenter's gaze was still very heavy upon my mind.  I'd
call that a pretty good impetus to do it, wouldn't you? I
thought he might give me relief from the constant
nightmares.  So I set out the next morning.  It took me
ten years before I finally redeemed the first one.  And
it got a little better.  So I set after another one.  And
so I have continued."
"For two thousand years."
"Two thousand years.  You said I was the Peacemaker.
That I am.  And Dawnbringer.  Bane, they sometimes call
me as well.  I've gone by many names, agent Mulder.  Van
Helsing was another one I took, for a time.  It never
fails to amuse me when I hear of the fictional version
being an old doctor."
"Madeleine told us about a woman named Eleanor."
This did not draw an immediate response.  "My wife.  Even
immortals become lonely, agent Mulder.  It's a
terrifyingly solitary experience.  For fifteen hundred
years, I killed, and killed, and killed.  My only
constant companion was death.  The deaths of those I
redeemed, and the deaths of my friends as they died
around me of old age.  Do you remember the first time you
wavered in your ambition to become an FBI agent? Those
deaths weigh on you after a while.  Especially those ones
that went willingly.  I believe they were the hardest.
And fifteen hundred years ago, I fell in love.  I put
down my sword and married Eleanor.  Then the Circle of
Ten murdered her, and I had to begin the killing again."
"And you went to Japan and had a Silver Rivers blade made
for you," said Mulder.  Adamson raised his eyebrows.
"You have done your reseach," he said.  "Yes.  From that
time onwards it became much easier to hunt them down.
The Silver Rivers blade could kill them, and something
about the metal it was made of obscured my exact location
from the Circle of Ten."
"That's the second time you mentioned them.  What's the
Circle of Ten?"
"Yes.  In any group, agent Mulder, you will eventually
see organisation.  Society.  A hierarchy of authority.
It holds as much for the undead as it does for the
living.  The Circle of Ten was such a body.  Its rulings
and justice were respected among all vampires.  I learned
that much from those that went willingly to their graves.
The Circle had been established around the year five
hundred anno domini, and might determined one's place on
the Circle.  Ten members, ten of the most vile creatures
crawling on the earth.  As a result of my ... condition
... and their status, I became their archenemy."
"And this Sai'ten that Madeleine mentioned?"
"The leader of the Circle.  He was personally responsible
for the death of my wife."  These words were spoken with
such lack of emotion it made Mulder's spine tingle.
Adamson sat forward in his seat.  "After Eleanor died, I
focused on the Circle of Ten.  It took me a long time.
Two hundred years, to be precise.  But eventually I
hunted down nine of them.  He thought of them very
personally, you understand.  They were like his
brothers."
"So there's only Sai'ten left?"
"Yes.  And he wants me very badly."  Adamson let a grim
smile crease his face.  "When you've nurse a grudge for a
hundred years, it can become an obsession."
"Which makes dating Madeleine Chambers dangerous right
now, doesn't it?"
"Madeleine knows the dangers -- at least, she does now.
She's made it very clear she wants to stay with me.  I
committed a great sin in marrying Eleanor.  Or rather,
marrying her without letting her know the dangers.  I
will carry her death on my soul to the end of my life or
the end of time, whichever comes first.  But I will not
stop living because of what I do.  The Nazarene owes me
that much, for two thousand years' blood on my hands.
And if he comes to me now because he thinks I'll be weak
in love, so much the better.  He's the last of them,
agent Mulder.  A creature from another age.  Without him,
the Circle is broken.  Strike the shepherd and the sheep
scatter.  When he comes for me, I will be ready."

"I have one other question.  Does the church know you
exist?"
Adamson smiled again.  "I'm one of the secrets they pass
down from one Pope to the next.  I met Peter, once, to
explain my situation.  He forgave me on behalf on Christ
for striking him.  But that didn't change my penance, I'm
afraid.  Most of the Popes since then haven't believed
that I even exist.  There have been a few notable
exceptions.  John Paul I, in particular.  I met him just
after he began his reign.  He was curious and contacted
me in one of the old ways Peter had set down.  We
hammered out the deal.  The Church protects the details
of my existence, and I protect Christians from ... the
other side."
"You could confirm belief in God for a lot of people
around the planet.  Why don't you?"
"What purpose would that serve?" said Adamson.  "I would
be a fake or a figure of worship.  Either way, I would
not be able to do the task I have been charged with."

Mulder considered this for a long time.
"Anyway," said Kane, leaning back and taking a deep
breath, "that is my story.  You can do as you will with
me.  It matters not to me.  But do not charge Madeleine
with any part of these murders.  She is not to blame."

Mulder stood.  "It's quite a story.  I can't promise I
believe all of it, or that you'll come out of this
unscathed.  But that last thing I can do."
Adamson nodded.  "Thank you for that, at least."

Mulder knocked on the door to the cell, and the guard
came to unlock it.  They had the door halfway open when
the lights went out.

He was just wondering what had happened when a hard blow
across the back of the head sent him reeling into
darkness.

               *              *              *

Scully had permission from Customs to prosecute.  Her
feet still half on air from the news of benign cancer,
she had then gone to look in on Madeleine.

The woman had told them all that Kane had said to her.
They spent the next hour or so getting a statement from
her and then asked whether he was going to be prosecuted.
Scully hadn't answered then.  Mulder was still in there,
interviewing him.  So she went to talk to Madeleine.  She
had been crying.  Scully had brought in a cup of coffee;
it was nearly four o'clock in the morning.  She was
amazed she wasn't feeling it herself.

And then the lights had blown.  There were shouts of
confusion outside the interviewing room, and then the
sound of breaking glass.
"What's going on?" said Madeleine.
"Stay here.  Don't move one inch," said Scully, pulling
her gun.  She moved quietly over to the door.
"Dear God.  It's him."
Scully snapped her head around to look at Madeleine.
"Who?"
"The one Kane was talking about.  The hardcase.
Sai'ten."
Scully snapped her gaze back to the door, feeling a chill
inching its way through her stomach.  More shouts from
outside.  She edged out of the door, pistol pointed
towards the ceiling.

END OF PART 12/14


Nocte Eterna
by Michael Aulfrey
Part 13/14

A gun went off.  Shotgun, a part of her mind said to
herself.  The roar was unmistakeable.  Then another
popping noise.  Pistols.  Shouts.  A scream.  She started
running down the hallway.  The noise was coming from the
direction of the front office.  She slowed her run
slightly, lowering the gun to sighting position.  A dark
silhouette, its hands clasped before it, sprinted across
the hall.  She saw the grey of prisoner fatigues.

Adamson.

"Freeze!" she yelled, but he was already through the
opposite door as she did it.  She sprinted down the hall
after him, skidding to a halt in front of the door.  She
kicked it open and panned her gun from one side to the
other, but nothing moved in the room.  A shadow flitted
away from frosted glass on the other side of the room.
She almost tightened her hand on the trigger.  But a
scream from around the corner of the hallway jogged her
aim, and she flicked her attention in that direction.

Now there was sustained gunfire erupting, the flashes
casting tortured shadows on the walls facing her.
Screams.  And now roars of fury, things she would expect
to come from an animal.  She raced down to the end of the
corridor and skidded around the corner.

She would never forget the utter horror of what she saw.

The lobby of the police station had been invaded --
violated -- by animals and humans that looked so alike it
could hardly be told where one ended and the next began.
A wolf tore out a police officer's throat out in a
single, flicking motion.  Blood and gobbets of flesh spat
across the room and splattered against the far wall.
Something like a human-sized bat was crouched over the
body of a policewoman, tearing at the intestines that
flopped loose from the jagged tear in her abdomen.

And then there were the men, locked in hand-to-hand
combat with other, straining humanoid figures.  A cop
screamed in rage and jammed a shotgun in the ear of one
of the creatures that was attacking his best friend and
pulled the trigger.  The flash, smoke and cordite was met
with the sound of red rain falling as the head of the
humanoid figure disintegrated.  The cop with the shotgun
was smashed into a wall by a flying body and screamed as
it tried to tear his head off.  A window smashed.  Rats
flooded into the room, trampled underfoot and biting at
those officers unfortunate enough to be down and
unconscious.

And at the very back, one dark figure, black jacket and
jeans glinting in the overhead light, smiling in
tranquility as though he were under a cool fountain.

Scully heard a yell building up in her throat at the same
time she realised that the pistol was levelling and
aiming for the figure.  She'd been a good shot at the
Academy.  Her body unconsciously moved into the textbook
shooters' stance; in profile, one hand pointed outward.
She fired.  Once, twice, six times.  She fired.  She saw
blood fly and explode from the figure as each one of the
bullets hit him.  He fell backwards, tumbling downward.

Around her the slaughter continued.  She had eyes only
for the figure now lying on the ground.

And then it started to stand up.  Got to its feet,
absently rubbing at the points where the bullets had made
holes in the jacket.  It peered around as though looking
for something.

It saw her.  It grinned, and started a slow advance
through the carnage towards her.

She fired again, taking a step back.  The shot missed,
ricocheting off a wall and whining through the glass of a
window.  Took another step back.  Fired again.  The punch
of the bullet pushed his shoulder back as though someone
had shovedd him, but no more than that.  He recovered
himself , straightened and started forward again.

She fired twice more, the bullets hitting his legs.  He
crumpled for a second, and then was coming again.  She
pulled the trigger one more time -- and it hit on empty.

She turned and ran, as much from the sphere of cold fear
that figure produced as the carnage.  Running back,
fumbling for the second magazine she kept.  Running for
Madeleine's space.  She didn't glance back to see if the
figure was still walking up behind her.  She knew that
already.

She kicked in the door of the room.  Madeleine screamed,
then stared like a rabbit in the headlights of an
oncoming car at Scully.  It was only then she felt the
blood which had sprayed from some officer's body in the
lobby of the station dripping off her face.
"We have to move.  Come on, move!" she snapped at
Madeleine, who dumbly fumbled her way up to a standing
position.  Scully grabbed her arm and pushed open the
door with her gun arm, snatching a glance out the
corridor.

It was clear.

"All right, come on.  I think it's safe."
She dragged Madeleine out of the room, letting the door
swing closed.  Madeleine was screaming in fear.
"Where's Kane? Where is he?"
"Yes, where is he?"

The voice that had spoken was from beyond the grave.

Sai'ten was behind the door.  It swung shut to reveal his
gore-covered form.  His eyes were shining with swamp-gas
fire now.  The light of the dead.  Scully swung Madeleine
behind her and pointed the gun, her hand tightening--

Only to find that the vampire had grabbed her arm and
wrenched it aside.  She cried out in pain as the muscles
bent back on themselves.  Sai'ten snorted in contempt,
and then flicked her ever so inconsequentially.  Scully
found herself flying through the air.  Then she crashed
against the wall with terrific force.

The last thing she heard was Madeleine screaming before
she passed out.

               *              *              *

Kane heard the screams and cursed the police and himself.
Once again, he'd allowed innocents to get in the way of
the battle.  He pushed the emotion down; it was baggage
he didn't need in this situation, where he had to think
clearly if he was to escape.  He heard running footsteps
outside the darkened room and crouched down a little
lower before resuming his efforts.  He'd gotten a set of
keys from the guard outside his cell, knocking him
unconscious before he'd had a chance to pull his gun.
The woman -- agent Scully -- had almost caught him, but
he'd kept moving.  Now came the difficult part; of all
the experiences he'd had, unlocking handcuffs that were
actually on him was a novel one.  He'd already dropped
the keys twice.

Third time was the charm.  They fell from his wrists like
shed skin.  He rubbed his hands together, clapping his
palms together and bending them to get the circulation
going again.  Another gunshot roared from outside.  He
had submerged the fear again; the warrior was back in
control.  Now all he had to do was find where they'd
hidden his--

He spotted the long plastic bag and couldn't believe his
luck.  Of all the rooms he'd picked to hide in, he'd
gotten the evidence collection room.  He crabbed over to
the table, keeping below the level of the frosted glass
windows where his silhouette might give him away.  The
dai-katana they'd confiscated from his apartment slid
into his hand like the old friend it was.  He hefted it
in both hands, concentrating on the feel of his slashed
shoulder.  It was healing well; not optimum, but he could
still deliver killing force with it.

Another crash of furniture being broken outside, in the
lobby.  He briefly considered going after the ones out
there at the moment, but decided against it.  They were
only the cover for the real target: him.  And there was a
good chance the police might see him with the sword in
his hands and panic.  No.  He suppressed the pang of
guilt that rose up and slipped out of a doorway.

He found an open window easily and jumped out of it.
Being on the ground floor had some advantages.  He
gripped the sill and pulled himself upwards, flipping
onto the roof.  Sai'ten was here.  The vampire's
sensation in the universe was unique.  Better to have the
high ground and wait until he made his appearance.  He
hurried across the roof, avoiding air conditioning ducts
where the sounds of battle still echoed from the lobby,
to the front of the building, still shrouded in darkness.

He waited.  Occasionally a body rolled from the front
doors or windows.  He was unimpressed by the animals;
this was a low form of attack, designed to scare an enemy
into surrendering against apparently insurmountable odds.
There were probably only four or five of the vampires
actually present, and the men, with their firepower and
their adrenalin-aided strength, would probably take them
easily.  The real target -- and the real battle -- was
Sai'ten.

He didn't have to wait long before the crawling sensation
he had intensified.  Sai'ten's form was hurrying from the
building.  He readied himself to jump at the black-
cloaked figure.  But Sai'ten suddenly turned around.

All Kane's battle-readiness and meditation vanished.

Madeleine.  She was in a headlock, held fiercely by the
vampire.  Sai'ten looked up straight at the Dawnbringer,
crouched on the roof, white T-shirt and silvery blade
glowing in the near-darkness.
"Let her go, Sai'ten."  He had to fight to keep his voice
under control.  The blade wanted to reach out, to slash,
to kill; but Madeleine held his hand back in an agony of
indecision.
"I don't think so, Dawnbringer."
"It's me you want, you bastard! Why don't you let her go
and we'll see if you can really fight!"
"No.  You made me come here, forced me to fight on your
terms.  Now you will come to my ground.  You know the
place.  Or else she will become mine, like your Eleanor
did."

Sai'ten turned and calmly pulled Madeleine away, towards
the black Plymouth Fury that stood like a faithful pet at
the kerb.  Kane jumped off the roof, hitting the ground
and rolling to absorb the impact so he came up without
injury.  He had only just got there when the car peeled
away from the kerb, its engine howling like a hell hound.

His heart beat fast.  It was happening all over again.
Eleanor's shade hovered by him, accusing him with every
step he took.  He had left her to die, and now Madeleine
was going to die.  The pain washed over him.  Sai'ten had
been right all along; love was his weakness, the thing
that had made him falter.  He was as helpless as ever he
had been.

His immortality meant nothing to him.  The pain vanished.
Only the rage and revenge were left.  The fire of rage
merged with the skill of the warrior and left hot,
blazing metal in its wake.  Kane Adamson no longer
existed.  The man who struck Christ was gone.  Only The
Eternal Knight remained.  The instrument of humanity's
vengeance on the darkness.

He knew the place.
Oh, my, yes.
He started to run.  Found a police car, jumped into it
and hotwired the engine, screaming off into the night
towards his destiny.

               *              *              *

Mulder awoke to the final gunshot and Scully shaking his
elbow.
"Mulder? Come on, wake up!"
He dimly remembered something about sleeping.  Then it
came back to him.  He groaned.
"Adamson ... where's Kane?"
"Gone," said Scully.  She glanced around at the makeshift
stretchers and bandages.
"He hit me from behind ... when the lights went out."
"So did Sai'ten," she said.  He stared up at her in
sudden concern.
"Sai'ten?"
"And a whole host of other horrors.  You were right,
Mulder ... there are such things as vampires.  A lot of
good police officers died because of the attack they made
here, tonight."
"How long ago?"
"Marshall thinks they just got the last one.  They're
still in shock."

"What about Madeleine? Is she all right?"

Scully looked down at the floor.
"I tried to keep hold of her, Mulder.  I pumped six
rounds into Sai'ten, and he still kept coming.  They said
they saw him taking her outside to a car."
"Jesus.  Has anyone seen Kane at all?"
"No.  But ... his sword's gone, Mulder.  They found open
handcuffs on the floor of the evidence room."
"We've got to find him.  He's going to fight Sai'ten, and
I don't think he can win on his own."
"That's a great idea, but we don't even know where to
start looking for him."
"I do.  Kane said about a hundred years ago, he killed
the last of Sai'ten's brothers ... something called the
Circle of Ten.  Saint Martin's Church was closed in 1920.
I'm willing to bet that's where they're heading.  Sai'ten
will want to finish Kane off on desecrated ground."
Scully nodded.  "I'll get us a car.  Mulder ... you
talked to Kane.  Who is he, really?"

Mulder thought about all that Kane had said.  Christ.
Murders.  Hundreds of years of hunting vampires.
"I don't know," he replied.  "Come on, let's move."

END OF PART 13/14


Nocte Eterna
by Michael Aulfrey
Part 14/14

Not quite dawn.

He slowed the police car as he reached Saint Martin's
Church.  Stopped it about twenty metres out from the
front of the place, and got out.  He drew the dai-katana
and walked, each pace more careful than the rest, to the
front door of the church.

The memories cascaded over him again.  Here he had
finished the last of Sai'ten's family, in revenge for his
own family, slain so long ago.  It had been a hard fight,
consuming most of the church in fire and destruction.
He'd finally won, driving a stake through the heart of
the vampire right on the altar itself.

Now the last of the Circle of Ten had come back here.  To
kill or be killed.  Either way, part of him found it
fitting.  He stood there before the church, reminiscing.
Behind this door was his destiny.

He pushed it open and walked, unhesitating, inside.

No sound.  Only the whistling of the wind.  The smells
were of peat and moss.

Then a woman's scream, and the smell of blood.  He spun
in the direction of the sound.  Immediately, something
crashed across the back of his head, felling him to the
ground.  The dai-katana skittered from his hand.  He
snapped his hand back onto it and sprang to his feet,
listening again.  Nothing.  Nothing at--

Another blow, this time a sharp, quick slap across the
side of his face, bloodying his nose.  He reeled, but
rolled with the force of the punch, lashing out with a
quick swipe of the sword in retaliation, but his blade
caught empty air.  He turned slowly in a circle, reaching
out with all his senses.
"Are you afraid to face me, Sai'ten?" he said, the words
rolling across the ground.  There was a short silence.
Then, from the shadows, as though he'd never been there,
Sai'ten stepped out, a long rapier in his hand.
"No.  I've never been afraid to face you, Dawnbringer."
"Is that why you hid from me for the past hundred years?"
snapped Kane.  "Where's Madeleine?"
"You will have to come through me first."
"I'll do more than that."
"You have been the bane at the heels of every one of my
kind since I can remember.  But tonight you will die."
Kane let a sharp guffaw rise.  "Don't you listen to your
own legends, Sai'ten? Don't you know that I can't die?
You have chosen your death in coming here."

Sai'ten's eyes glittered.
"I've been waiting a long time for this.  There will be
no new day for you, Dawnbringer."

They advanced on each other.  Sai'ten tried a quick blow
to the head.  Kane contemptuously flipped the point aside
and thrusted quickly.  Sai'ten danced aside.  The first
blows, traded without injury.

Kane began with a two-blow combination that Sai'ten
managed to block and riposte to, and they were deep into
battle.  Steel rang.  Sparks flew.  They danced backward
and forward.  If Michelangelo had been present, he would
have begged for a canvas to try and record them as a
moving tableau.  Their artistry was impeccable.  But the
fight wore into the fifth, sixth minutes without any
change in them.  Now the blows were less perfectly timed
than they should have been.  Rage came into its own.
They had been mortal enemies since the days of steam and
earlier, and now it came down to this final fight to
settle all scores.  They smashed at each other, their
muscles corded and snapping out like pistons of some
great machine.  No artistry now.

But Kane suddenly felt himself getting tired.  He blocked
a thrust, countered with a riposte, and barely blocked
another.  The sword became heavy in his hand.

And Sai'ten was smiling.

He blocked another blow as the vampire forced him onto
the defensive.  Now he was retreating across the church,
moving back towards the altar.

He caught Sai'ten's blade and for a moment they stood
locked together, straining against each other.
"Feeling a little weak, are we? Not quite our usual
self?"
They broke the lock and backed off from each other, Kane
sweating heavily.
"It's the place, you see.  It's why I was able to find
you in the police station.  It's a focus for most of the
darkest energies in the universe.  And you, my friend,
are right on it.  Your sword could protect you for a few
minutes, but now ... you will die.  You're no stronger
than any other man."
"You're wrong," snarled Kane and slashed at Sai'ten.  The
vampire nimbly dodged aside.
"Am I?  Then why can't you even lift your blade?"

Sai'ten walked within sword-reach.  Kane tried to smash
his sword into Sai'ten's side, but found he couldn't even
shift it a few small inches.  Sai'ten lifted his blade
and crashed it down on the guard of the Dawnbringer's
sword.  A bright arc of light, it skittered away to lie
in the darkness.  Kane found himself hardly caring.  The
darkness was suddenly pressing down on him like a weight
of iron.

Sai'ten ran him through with his blade.  Fire exploded in
his stomach, the blood welling around the blade.  He
screamed in pain.  Sai'ten twisted it, making a hole the
size of a coin in his gut.  But the nerves shut down
after a little more.  He started to go black.

Madeleine.

Where was she, now? If he knew she was alive--

Sai'ten had pulled the blade out now, the blood running
in a river to the ground as he staggered back against the
altar.  He was aiming the point somewhere between Kane's
legs.  He didn't care.  Madeleine--

"Federal agents! Drop your weapon and put your hands up!"
The hollering of a male voice.  Agent Mulder.  Kane
smiled dimly in appreciation of the joke.

Sai'ten was turning away and looking in that direction,
the blood running down his blade.  Out of faint interest,
Kane looked in that direction as well.

Madeleine.

His damaged nerves took a second for that to register.
But there she was.  Her hands still tied, but leaning
heavily on the shoulder of the woman, the FBI agent, who
also had her gun pointed at Sai'ten.

The vampire roared in anger.  Mulder yanked the trigger.
Scully was a couple of seconds behind him.  Both their
shots hit, staggering the creature.  It roared in pain
and anger.

Kane watched Sai'ten with considerable, pondering
thought.  Neurons fired in his mind.  Madeleine was
alive.  And safe.

Streength surged through him, the light of a reborn heart
shining through him.  He lurched forward, every movement
a blaze of new pain and pulled the small wooden stake
he'd hidden in the rear of his belt.  And with a last
bolt of strength, he collapsed on top on the staggering
Sai'ten and slammed the wood through the creature's
heart.

Blood sprayed.  Sai'ten screamed, and then stared
directly at Kane, lying on top of him, locking gazes with
the Dawnbringer as the light in the last of the Circle of
Ten faded for the last time.  Then the eyes closed.  The
body began to crystallise as the sheer will holding it
together crumbled, and then turned to dust.  Kane let
himself meld with the pile of dust , his blood spilling
out onto the ground.  This was how it ended, then.  No
carpenter with the Nazarene's eyes to greet him and tell
him he could die.

But then he looked up and saw a strange light in the sky.
A welcoming light.  Curious, he moved toward it.  One
part of his mind was physically conscious of leaving his
body behind, but chose to ignore it.

And there was the carpenter again.
--What have I said that was given offence?--
And this time, he was surprised to find he had the answer
to that question.

               *              *              *

They had found Madeleine behind the church, bound and
gagged.  Scully had gotten her on her feet while he had
run around to the side of the church and pointed his
weapon at Sai'ten.  Now they stumbled forward into the
church towards Kane's slumped form.  Mulder turned him
over, then took Madeleine from Scully as she lookd him
over.  She tried his pulse, then his throat.

She looked up at Mulder and slowly shook her head.

Madeleine Chambers turned her head into his shoulder and
sobbed, her tears racking her battered body.

They lay there silently, the wind caressing them gently,
as the dawn rose.

EPILOGUE:

EXTRACT:
PERSONAL NOTES,
FOX MULDER.

Kane Adamson was proved to be linked to most of the other
mass murders I told agent Scully about.  The difficulty,
of course, was that since none of the bodies were
identified, there could hardly be any charges.

Scully and myself? We're back to our old relationship ...
I think.  She hasn't said anything else about what happened in
Chicago those two days.  And maybe, in some way, I'm glad
it hasn't happened either.  We are closer; but in one
of those ways I can't explain, we're further apart.

What will history say of Kane Adamson? That he was
immortal? That he was a murderer? That he might have been
doing the will of God? I don't know.  It was never
conclusively proven that he was immortal.  Or that he was
not.  What scares me more is the prophecy that he could die
only when Christ returns.  Not that I believe it.

I only know this much.  His sword is safely locked away
in one corner of Scully's and my own office.  Just in
case.  In case of what? Just ... in case somebody needs
it again.  Such as who?

I wish I knew.

EXTRACT ENDS.


END OF PART 14/14
--------------------------------------------------
Phew! Over at last.  This one was a piledriver, folks ...
but I enjoyed every minute of it.  If you have *any*
comments at all, good or bad, I'd appreciate them being
mailed to me at mikeaulf@tartarus.uwa.edu.au ...
---------------------------------------------------------
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Michael J. Aulfrey                                      Anti-Gump, X-Phile
University of Western Australia                         X-Fanfictioneer
Address: mikeaulf@tartarus.uwa.edu.au                   
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"High tech <beep> tech <beep> <WHACK!> technology." -- Fox Mulder on Pentium
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"Unarmed...and extremely attractive." -- Dana Scully on Windows 95  
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